


Glowing Dim as an Ember

by takemetofantasyland



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dmitry centric, F/M, I hope you don't need your heart either, In which Anastasia is mostly a memory, Mentions of violence as it relates to the Romanovs, get your tissues ready for this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takemetofantasyland/pseuds/takemetofantasyland
Summary: When Dmitry was ten years old, his father took him to a parade where he saw the Grand Duchess Anastasia for the first time. He has kept the memory with him for his entire life, holding onto the hope of seeing her again, even in the darkest of times. The Grand Duchess, once the mischievous daughter of the Tsar, becomes a legend in the streets of St. Petersburg. Dmitry can't shake the memory he now sees in the streets and faces of St. Petersburg, knowing he'll never see her again.Primarily set from the parade in In A Crowd of Thousands to the events just before A Rumor in St. Petersburg. Some Canon Divergence in plot.





	1. Prologue: Among All The People

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon divergence au that sort of snuck up on me. I don't really ever do canon divergence, and I don't know how much divergence will come as the plot comes along. I was thinking about how Dmitry and Anastasia (before she becomes Anya) lead parallel lives that rarely intersect. I thought of Anastasia living on as a memory in Dmitry's mind, since he never really knew what happened to her until he meets Anya. I don't know, we'll see. But either way I thought it would be interesting to explore Dmitry's side of the story before Anastasia takes place. I haven't done much in the canon world so I'm excited to work with this a little. There will be differences from the canon plot that are intentional. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I have enjoyed writing!

**[St. Petersburg, Russia — 1907]**

The June air was thick and muggy, causing Dmitry’s shirt to stick to his back. While being out in the summer air was all but pleasant, he gladly ignored the heat as the streets buzzed with excitement. It was not common to hear talk of the Imperial family parading through the city, but the thought of seeing the automobiles carrying the Tsar and his family was enough to make his heart race.

Strangers smiled and greeted one another on the street. It was as if time had stopped and everyone took a moment out of their day to catch a glimpse of the parade. Troubles and worries were set aside, even if only for a brief moment.  

The excitement around the parade seemed to draw all of Petersburg onto the streets. Dmitry knew there were thousands of people who lived in the city, but had never seen so many people all in one place as the streets began to crowd.

He knew merchants and craftsmen who only spoke of the Imperial family in whispers and hushed tones. There were often whispers in the streets as he walked on his own. But today, all had seemed to be set aside for the occasion.

Dmitry stood close to his father, knowing it would be so easy to get separated in this crowd. Even still, there was pushing and prodding as everyone tried to catch sight of the Romanovs.

Guards lined the roads, as automobiles hummed in the distance. A chatter moved through the crowd as the humming grew louder, and the first automobile came into view.

He stood on his toes, taking a fighting chance to see what he could of the parade route. Dmitry was tall for his age, but with so many people, it was nearly impossible to see anything.

He slipped away from his father, just as he saw a hole in the crowd. His father looked to where his son once stood, and called his name. Dmitry ducked and wove through the crowd, finding a clearing on the edge of the route, just behind some of the guards.

An automobile approached with four young girls in the back seat. The crowd moved and bobbed as every person tried to steal a glance at who was riding in the automobile. Dmitry knew immediately it must be carrying the Tsar’s four daughters. He managed to get a look at the automobile as it neared, the girls dressed in jewels and satin finer than he had ever seen. Each daughter had her hair styled, leaving curls tumbling over their shoulders. Each girl had her hair pulled back in a soft bow.

The girls’ eyes fixed forward. He had no idea how they could ride in a vehicle down a road with thousands of people watching, and not even bat an eye in their direction.

Then the youngest daughter, Anastasia, caught his eye. She was sitting by the window on the side closest to him.

The way Anastasia sat in the back of the automobile was so stiff for a child. It was a stiffness that came not with nature, but years of being raised by royalty. He then wondered if she ever had the chance to run, to dance, or to feel the warmth of the sun on her face. It seemed odd to him that an eight-year-old child could even sit as still as a porcelain doll. She was only a eight, but sat with the grace and pride of the royal lineage she was born into. But it could not conceal that there was something different in her face from her sisters.

He felt his mouth gape and he shook his head. As the automobile slowly passed and continued down the road, he pushed through the crowd and started to run after it. Crowds cheered as a second automobile, carrying the Tsar, Tsarina and young Tsarevich Alexei appeared on the road.

He ran after the automobile, following it down the road as he pushed through the crowd. His feet moved without even thinking, trying to get one last look at the youngest daughter. As he caught up with the automobile, he reached out a hand.

“Anastasia!”

Imperial guards turned their heads in his direction. The youngest Grand Duchess, so stiff and serene in the back of the automobile, turned her head slightly as if something had caught her attention.

Dmitry held his breath, a frowning guard watching him closely for any sign that he might do something threatening.

Anastasia’s pursed lips gently turned into a warm smile as she looked down at him on the street.

Dmitry gasped as he caught her attention, and dropped to his knee to bow to her.

Her smile widened and turned into a small giggle, and she tried to cover her mouth to hide it.

Dmitry looked up at the automobile, the Grand Duchess Anastasia’s fingers gently touching the window as she looked back. Her older sister —Maria, he thought— turned to look at her younger sister.

He watched as the automobile vanished from view, the summer sun beating down on him.

As the crowd cheered for the Tsar and Tsarina, he stood and watched as if the vehicle carrying the daughters was to come back. The second automobile carrying the Tsar and Tsarina soon passed and vanished.

The crowd around him cheered and chattered excitedly at the glimpse of the Imperial family. Dmitry stood, among all the people in the crowd, knowing he would never forget the glow in Anastasia’s smiled as she broke her proud and still composure to look at him.

As the end of the parade carried on, the crowd began to disperse through the streets. Dmitry turned over his shoulder to look for his father. He wasn’t quite sure how far he had run. He hadn’t even thought of it at the time. The streets were packed full of people, it could have easily been several blocks.

“Dima!” his father’s voice called.

Dmitry turned the other direction to see where his father’s voice had come from. He spotted his father standing on the street corner and he ran back to him. His father gently reached his arms out as Dmitry ran into his embrace.

His father’s arms gently dropped. Dmitry looked up at him, and gave him a sheepish grin.

He stood by his father’s side, and his father looked down at him. “I warned you about running off in this crowd,” his father said softly. There wasn’t a scolding in his father’s voice, but Dmitry knew when he ran off his father had the fear of losing him as he did his mother.

He didn’t speak of it much, but Dmitry knew.

“I just wanted to see,” Dmitry said quietly.

“I know,” his father placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him close.

They started on their way back to the small room his father had managed into a place to call home. Dmitry didn’t like to think of the single room his father paid the landlord for as home, but he knew it was as close to a home as he might ever have.

They walked in silence, the Romanov girls still very real in his memory.

There was something different about Anastasia he now carried with him. Seeing her smile brought a warmth to him so few others had in his life. He knew it was foolish of him to think so fondly of the Grand Duchess, a girl he would never truly know. There was a piece of him that wished they weren’t from different worlds and his chest hurt from just thinking about it.

He opened his mouth to say something to his father, and then quickly snapped it shut. This was a moment he wanted to keep for himself. He didn’t want anyone to ruin his memory of catching Anastasia smile.

And he never told a soul what he saw that day at the parade. A secret between only he and the duchess herself.


	2. A Truck Backfiring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up at a ten-ish year jump. Dmitry is now 20-ish if you don't want to do the math. 
> 
> In this chapter there was quite a bit of research done on the royal family, but also since Anastasia the musical doesn't quite follow historical accuracy, there's a blend. Remember, this is for fun, and a read into Dmitry. This is also a bit of a bridging chapter, so enjoy the ride!

**[St. Petersburg, Russia — 1918]**

Dmitry walked through the streets of St. Petersburg, only catching pieces of the hushed voices of merchants in the market place. People were unhappy and their murmurs buzzed in the streets as he walked and scoped the best wares he could use to trade. The wealth of the Imperial family had grown, and the spoils to the common man had diminished over time. 

There had been attempts to overthrow the Tsar, leading to small, reluctant change. The Tsar had already been removed from power, but still remained as a figure, along with his family. Dmitry had heard talk of a plan to get the Tsar off the throne once and for all and how they’d gladly go to the palace to take the Tsar’s head if it meant they would get enough change to have a decent meal. 

Information about the royal family was limited, just the way the Bolsheviks wanted it to be. He couldn't be too sure, but he knew there was not going to be a happy ending.

And his heart was conflicted. On one hand, he had memories of a simpler time. When he was a boy, all was well. It was a time when the Tsar and his family made public appearances and people poured out onto the streets to see the Tsar and his daughters. Now, to look at the Imperial family with anything but disgust seemed like a crime in itself.  

He grit his teeth as he walked through an alleyway. Yes, his situation was unfair, but he couldn’t help but he knew anarchy had cost his father his life. He resented the Tsar for that. 

And yet in his heart, even after all that had been ripped away from him, there was a piece of him that still cherished when all was good. When his father would put him on his shoulders and point to the palace. When he would make promises of a better life for the both of them.  When the imperial family still made public appearances. When he caught the gaze of the youngest daughter at the parade.

Today, there was a brooch in his pocket that he had conned from a merchant. Dmitry told the merchant is wasn’t real gold and no one would believe it for a second, and the reluctant merchant handed it over for much less than he should have. 

Dmitry knew it was real gold, his eye for pieces that would trade well had sharpened over the years. It was easily one of a kind, making none the wiser it didn’t actually come from the palace. It seemed, these days, the only times he spoke were when he was quickly trying to con someone out of something. He didn’t have much choice, he was only trying to keep himself alive.

Dmitry shoved his hands in his pockets, the brooch in his pocket. He knew this would trade for at least half a loaf of bread and his stomach growled at the thought of being full for once. His heart pounded at the thought of being able to trade for more, perhaps a loaf of bread and maybe a can of beans— if he was lucky. 

He pulled the brooch out of his pocket to examine it. It was a beautiful piece, and easily could have come from the royal court. He imagined the life a piece of jewelry might live before it had come into his hands. Perhaps it was worn to a ball, for a portrait, or during a parade. 

It was a warm July evening and the sun was setting over the skyline of St. Petersburg. The rising temperature broke for the evening, and Dmitry wiped sweat from his brow.

He walked along the street, and he carefully tucked the brooch back into his pocket. A bang went off at a distance and he started. 

Dmitry stopped in his tracks and looked around. He didn’t care for these new automobiles that the military used. They were noisy and a backfiring sounded like a gunshot. And a man could never be too careful these days. 

There was no automobile in sight. He swore he had heard one, even if it was faint. He paused and watched the street for a vehicle. Perhaps his hunger really was getting to him. 

The warm summer air snapped and turned cold as the final sliver of sun disappeared. Dmitry shivered. It was unusual to be this cold in July, even in the evening. Something in the air had shifted.

An automobile rounded the corner and he let out a sigh of relief. It was just a backfiring. Or so he hoped.

His stomach growled, but a gut feeling told him to turn back. As he looked around, people had disappeared from the streets, women closed the shutters on the upper floors of the surrounding buildings. He gripped the brooch in his pocket and gently let it go. He sighed, shoulders dropping. He knew it was smartest to turn back.

Dmitry walked through a small alley and back to a small crawl space he had claimed for himself. He wasn’t sure the landlord knew of the closet sized space in the back of his building, or perhaps he pitied Dmitry and didn’t care. 

His senses were sharp to the only city he had ever known, and loved, and had fallen out of love with. When the air wasn’t quite right in Petersburg, he knew to run and hide. He listened to the streets and the murmurs between people. There was a danger to be out on this July evening and he wasn’t quite sure why. 

Dmitry returned to the small hole-in-the-wall space and pushed a crate against the makeshift panel he used to make a door, his chest heaving. 

He sat on the floor, unable to relax enough to fall asleep. He had an awful feeling something terrible had happened, but he couldn’t quite place a finger on it. 

Dmitry stayed awake that night, a headache from hunger, and a pit in his stomach. He had a feeling there was more to brace himself for than just a truck backfiring. 


	3. A Man in the Alley

**[Petrograd, Russia— 1922]**

“It was a fake and you knew it, Dmitry!” A man spat across the table at Dmitry in a bar.

“There is no way to know for sure,” Dmitry shrugged.

“Did you remove it from the palace yourself?”

“I can’t disclose how I get my wares,” Dmitry crossed his arms.

The man lurched across the table at Dmitry, and Dmitry ducked out of the way. He slipped away from the table and started to run.

A group of men from the bar started after him, pushing stools and tables aside in the bar.

Dmitry ran out and onto the street, one of the men gaining on him. He just knew he had to keep running.

The men chased him down the street, one clipping his shoulder enough to make him stop. The man pushed him to the ground, and held him down with his foot. Dmitry struggled, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

“You think it’s funny cheatin’ people out of their wage?”

Dmitry struggled to breathe under his foot, “I only sell at a fair price.”

“You’re a hack!”

Dmitry’s breath grew hard as he struggled to inhale. He felt a sharp kick to his side and winced.

“You better watch yourself, boy, the police will be after you!”

Dmitry squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a second blow. Instead the man removed his foot.

Dmitry squinted as the men walked in the opposite direction. He sat up and winced as he clutched his side. He propped himself up and got to his feet, holding his side. It would definitely be bruised by nightfall.

He started back down the street. Everyone had been promised that their lives would be better without the Tsar. That if the revolution was successful, everyone would be treated equal. Little did they know being treated equal meant being equally treated like dirt.

He dusted himself off as he walked. Soldiers now patrolled the streets, taking anyone who was out of line to god knows where. They couldn’t have another Tsar was all they said.

Dmitry rounded the corner and heard a yelp in an alleyway. He turned over his shoulder to look. The revolution had turned him cold and bitter, and generally unwilling to help anyone.

But a pleading voice got his attention. He turned and ran down the alley to find a man being held up by a group of thugs.

“You’re dressed awful nice for a merchant,” one of the thugs growled at the man.

The man pulled nervously at his sleeve as if to hide something. He looked disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned and his glasses crooked on his nose.

“I-I assure you gentleman, I mean you no harm,” the man pleaded.

Dmitry took a step forward. “Let him go,”

The thugs turned and looked at Dmitry and laughed. “Dmitry, is that you?” one of the men laughed.

Dmitry frowned and curled his fist in a ball,  lurching toward the men. They teased and taunted him as he swung and missed. He was blinded by his own anger, and that these thugs seemed to get away with anything. If he had things his way, they would not be getting away with anything tonight.

Dmitry shoved one of the men to the ground. The man kicked at Dmitry’s leg and his knees buckled. He kicked back and pushed the thug holding the man against the wall. “Get out of here before I warn General Vaganov,” Dmitry threatened.

The men reluctantly cleared out and Dmitry looked at the man who looked like a crumpled up piece of newsprint after that mess.

“You saved me,” he said softly as he fixed his spectacles on his nose.

“It’s not a big deal,” Dmitry scoffed.

“I was sure I was done for,” the man replied, he nervously looked down the alleyway to see if the men were coming back.

“It’s...fine,” Dmitry brushed him off. He didn’t consider himself any sort of hero, only trying to do what was right in a system that was unjust.

“Who are you?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” Dmitry crossed his arms.

“Count Vladimir Popov, that’s who’s asking,” the man replied, “though perhaps I am just Vlad, now.”

“If you’re going to make it on the streets you can’t just give your name for nothin’” Dmitry replied. “And I’d drop the Count if I were you.”

The man nodded. He tugged at his sleeve.

Dmitry extended a hand, “Dmitry,”

“You’re giving me your name?” Vlad asked. There was a spark in his eye, and Dmitry knew they had an understanding of each other.

“Yeah I know, but you don’t seem you’d last a day out here. I doubt you’d turn me in.”

“You’re Dmitry?”

“So you’ve heard of me?” Dmitry arched his brow as he looked at the man.

“On the streets they talk of you like you’re some sort of legend. A prince of Petersburg, if you will.”

“Prince of Petersburg?” Dmitry laughed and shook his head. “Glad a reputation carries through the streets,” Dmitry smirked. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“A drink?”

“I think a glass of vodka would calm your nerves,” Dmitry smiled.

Dmitry couldn’t believe his eyes as he sat across from a former member of the imperial court in a booth at the bar. This man knew more than Dmitry would ever even know to ask. He didn’t know where to begin, and what to ask that wouldn’t be so offensive the man would shut down all together.   
  
And his mind slipped back to the tsar and his family. Perhaps this man knew the Grand Duchess. Perhaps he knew if she was still alive.

The man tugged at his sleeve and Dmitry noticed a watch on his wrist.

“Say, that’s a nice watch. Real diamonds I’m guessing? That would go for a fine price in this market.” Dmitry had already forgotten his manners. His mind was a machine, always trying to keep one step ahead in his next deal.

The man looked down at his watch and then back at Dmitry. “Oh no, no, no. I’m not interested in selling.”

“I’m just saying! Diamonds go a long way.” Dmitry leaned back in his chair. “Could get a man living on the street quite a few meals.” He had forgotten this wasn’t about a deal or the money, or even a watch.

“It’s not for sale,” the man recoiled.

Dmitry could tell he had struck a nerve. He backed off.

“It was a gift… from the court.” Vlad said.

Vlad downed the rest of his glass of vodka.  

Dmitry noted Vlad seemed to be drinking to forget. “Are you staying in Petersburg?” Dmitry asked.

“I’m trying to get as far away from this damn country as possible. But for now, Petersburg will have to do.”

This man knew things about the imperial court. Dmitry would have to tread carefully and slowly to get him to open up about just how much he knew.

“I know a place you can stay the night,” Dmitry offered.

Vlad looked at him. Dmitry threw coins on the table and led the way out of the bar.

He walked with Vlad up to the old palace, now abandoned and empty.

Vlad shuddered as he looked at the remains of the most powerful family in Russia.

“I can’t stay here,” he shook his head.

Vlad turned around and started back toward the bar.

Dmitry caught his arm and pulled him back. “The deputy commissioner has never set foot in here.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I stay here, from time to time.”

Vlad arched an eyebrow at Dmitry.

“Alright, a lot of the time.” Dmitry cleared his throat. “The place has been raided of nearly all its valuables, but the sofas are comfortable. It’s near impossible to move the furniture out of here without someone getting suspicious.”

Vlad looked around. “I suppose I am already on the run. It can’t hurt any more.”

Dmitry smiled and sank onto a chaise as he held his side. Vlad watched him carefully as he winced in pain. Dmitry shrugged his vest off, and tried to gracefully untuck his shirt to look at his ribs. Sure enough it was already bruising.

Vlad watched Dmitry examine his rib cage.

“Near scrape?” He asked.

“A small price to pay,” Dmitry brushed him off.

There was a pause between them. Vlad seemed to relax into the abandoned palace.

“You said you were a count.” Dmitry finally broke the silence.

“Indeed, I once was.” Vlad’s voice trailed off.

“Did you ever see them?”

“Who?”

“The Romanovs.”

“Countless times, yes.” Vlad said wistfully. “The daughters were delightful, always trying to convince their father they were mature enough to spend time with the adults.”

Dmitry swallowed hard, thinking of Anastasia. Only but a memory, now.

“I used to hear the balls were extravagant.” Dmitry said softly.

“Oh yes, they were like no other,” Vlad nodded. “Why such an interest? Why the palace?”

Dmitry nearly choked. He looked over at Vlad. “Er– well, when you grow up on the street they always say you want what you can’t have. I always wanted to know what went on in this palace.”

Vlad nodded. Finally, a softer side of Dmitry. He was so young, but so hardened and bitter toward the new regime.

Into the evening, Vlad dozed off on one of the old sofas in the palace. Dmitry sat with a trinket box he had found in a drawer, something easily conned. He examined it, noting the bottom had initials engraved on it. One of the sisters’ perhaps. He tried to imagine a young Anastasia, then only 16, begging her father to let her go to a ball. His heart ached, knowing she hadn’t chosen this life, and lost it without a second thought.

He was sure she was dead. Rumors swirled in the streets otherwise, but he knew after years had passed there was no way she could still be alive.

He glanced over as Vlad, asleep on the sofa beside him. This man was his ticket into the lives of the royalty. Even if that was now gone.

There was a piece of him that could still see the parade in June all those years ago. In his head he could still see the youthful faces of the Romanov sisters, giddy and smiling as they made public appearances. And Anastasia, always making the spotlight her own. Or perhaps, maybe he wanted to notice her more than her sisters.

There were times he felt he could still hear the faint music of a ball or see Anastasia’s smile. It was like living in a dream where he was running, but as soon as he was about to catch her, he woke up.

Dmitry held a small necklace in his hand that he had pulled from his pocket, once he was sure Vlad was asleep. He looked it over, examining the details he had looked over hundreds of times before. It was the only piece he had ever come across that he was sure once belonged to Anastasia. It was not for sale.


End file.
